


adjustments to civilian life: snapshots of bucky barnes

by endofadream



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Body Dysphoria, Brooklyn boys in love, Bucky's recovery in poetic snapshot form, Bucky's toxic headspace, Depression, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poetry, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, painting as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-11-08 13:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 55
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: recovery isn't easy, or linear, or even worth it at times.an ongoing series of poems detailing the struggles (and triumphs) of bucky's life after HYDRA.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> poetry is my second favorite love after fiction, so late last year after writing poems based on the trigger words i decided hey, why not make a series while bucky is recovering? and then this was born. i hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> fun fact: i [made](https://www.instagram.com/p/BazeM3QhSjM/) it into a book and now [sebastian stan](https://www.instagram.com/p/BbXsXFLh47R/) owns it!

you see  
a light go out in your house–  
flickering, blinking, gone  
filament inside rattling around  
with a glasslike tinkling sound.  
  
and you look at it.  
your mind is much like that bulb–  
rattling, unsteady, broken  
burned out  
and you don’t know if you’ll ever be the same.  
or if you, too, have reached the end  
of your usefulness.  
  
and, in a way, you don’t want to be the same,  
because who you were has been  
written about in history books.  
who you are now has changed that history.  
two sides at war with one another,  
two different centuries:  
gun oil and blood on the hands of one,  
pomade and grease on the other.  
  
and all you can think about is the way that  
the opaque glass looks against the  
silver of your hand. cradled there like  
a baby bird, fragile with its onion-skin.  
  
and that, when you crush it, powder  
falls to the ground, slivers caught  
in the grooves of your palm.  
and you don’t feel pain.


	2. Chapter 2

nightmares are things  
with sharp teeth  
that your ma told you  
not to be scared about. 

‘there are no monsters under your bed.  
there is nothing in the dark  
that will get you.’ 

but she’s dead, and you wish  
that you were, too. 

because you are that nightmare.  
that monster under the bed.  
your teeth gleam white in the dark  
and your mouth drips crimson. 

you know screams and the  
sour stench of fear–  
your body sings  
with muscle  
memory; how easy it is to break an arm.  
how quickly a trachea gives under your thumbs. 

you don’t do that anymore, but it  
follows you like a shadow and  
stalks you in the night. 

‘there is nothing in the dark  
that will get you.’ 

and still you wake screaming into  
the dusky gray light of dawn, but  
it’s never because you are the one  
being chased. 

instead, it is because it is you that  
people are running from.  
and it is you that people fear.


	3. Chapter 3

your mind is a minefield, filled with hidden tripwires and switches. what was once home has become alien territory; where you once were safe you now feel fear, because around every corner blackness edges in, growing, feeding. you feel cold and distant; a stranger in a time not your own. you tread with a held-breath stiffness unbecoming of you, whose laughter used to fill the room. whose smile came freely, whose voice was always the loudest. who was supposed to be lost in history, not the one whose rifle scope shaped it.  
  
but you are not you. not anymore.  
  
you were reborn, reanimated, a corpse brought back to life. you are not really you: your skin does not fit right, a size and a half too small. your smile is too wide, your eyes too bright. imposter. a wolf in sheep’s clothing. you scream at the night, hide in fear from the day. the light is too honest. a spotlight, showing too clearly your flaws. the scars, the unnatural gleam of silver. a robot: a less-than human. it has your voice. it has your face. but–  
  
you are not you. not anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

you are living on  
borrowed time, and you wonder  
which day it’s going to be:  
today, tomorrow, next week.  
next month.  
next year.

you wonder how it will happen.  
will it be a bullet? a knife?  
poison?  
will it be fast or slow?  
you hope fast, but that nasty little  
voice inside your head reminds you of  
what you have done, so  
maybe you deserve slow.

steve would say otherwise.  
and steve.  
right now he is asleep. untroubled  
while you lay beside him worrying.  
what else is new? all steve ever wanted  
was you, and now you are here.  
broken, you remind him.  
and he says he doesn’t care.  
and you don’t say it, but every time  
you fall just a little more in love with him.

you brush his hair off his forehead and  
he stirs. sighs. drawing the blankets  
up around him.  
in your chest your heart squeezes.

time touches you both differently.  
you age, but it’s slow, creeping.  
and it’s still borrowed, the second hand  
ticking away.

when you look at steve like this,  
vulnerable; slack rosy mouth and  
the unlined forehead of unconsciousness,  
you stop wondering how much time  
you have left,  
and you start cherishing what you have.


	5. Chapter 5

the world crumbles at your feet  
chasms opening up, exposing the nerve  
of the center of the earth  
you are shaking. shaking  
rattling all the way to your own core  
and you wonder if you, too, will open up  
exposing your nerve  
though you doubt that yours will have  
the bright dangerous glow of molten iron  
yours would be black, like space  
like nothingness  
consuming you whole  
like a dying star


	6. Chapter 6

i did not ask for this  
you must understand  
i asked for death in that ravine  
i asked for anything other than  
this  
  
i asked for you, steve,  
even when they said you were dead  
then, i prayed  
  
i asked for salvation when finally  
i gave up, too exhausted to fight  
when i forgot your name and mine  
and that cold creeping horror  
of losing yourself  
stole its way over my bones  
  
i did not ask for this red star on my arm  
this heaviness on my soul  
and fear of damnation  
  
please. listen to me  
  
i did not ask for this  
so why does it feel like i did?


	7. Chapter 7

i feel  
the bones  
of my hand  
the bones  
of my breast  
i feel  
the rise  
and fall  
of my lungs  
the heart  
beating steady  
between  
i feel  
my skin  
and my  
warmth  
  
so how  
can you tell  
me that i  
am not  
human  
when my  
very  
biology  
suggests it?  
  
i have  
spent too  
long  
at the  
hands of  
Them  
i have  
spent too  
long  
being a  
thing  
an  
it  
  
i feel  
your lips  
on mine  
and how  
you smile  
i feel  
your heartbeat  
against my  
chest  
your hands  
in my hair  
and your name  
on my tongue  
  
for the  
first time  
in decades  
i feel  
like  
myself


	8. Chapter 8

every single  
atom  
of my being  
is drawn to  
you--  
you  
who is my  
true north  
the magnetic  
core at the  
center of my  
earth  
i would break  
apart continents  
for you  
i would fill  
the sky with  
ash and dust  
i would start  
the cycle of  
life all over  
again  
if it meant  
i got to see  
you  
smile  
one last  
time


	9. Chapter 9

how can i  
keep up this  
tissue-paper smile  
when emptiness  
begins gnawing  
at my bones like  
a starved animal?


	10. Chapter 10

i need you  
to know  
it has been  
so long  
but it feels  
like days  
i can't forget  
the touch of  
your fingertip  
to my bare  
skin  
and i have not  
forgotten  
your laugh  
it has been  
years  
but like it was  
yesterday  
i still feel  
your hand slip  
through mine  
and it is not  
your laugh i  
remember  
but your  
scream

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

hold my  
hand  
here  
do you feel it?  
do you feel  
me?  
do you feel  
the drumbeat of  
my pulse  
and how you  
make it  
quicken?  
kiss me  
here  
oh  
how you drive me  
mad


	12. Chapter 12

i wonder

if i were to

kiss you

right now

everywhere

what would you

taste like?

would the metal of

your shoulder be cold?

or would it be warm

like the pale pink flush

across your chest?

and when i kiss the

valley of your belly

and feel it tense under me

you throw your head back–

 

jesus.

mary and joseph.

you are so beautiful

your lips like the flesh of

the forbidden fruit

forgive me, but i

cannot help myself:

i lean up for a taste

and end up with a mouthful


	13. Chapter 13

on the day you  
fell i  
should have known  
that you did not  
die  
because a part of me  
kept on fighting when  
it should have died  
too


	14. Chapter 14

i once prayed  
i once held rosary beads  
between my fingers  
but there came a time  
when the meaning was  
lost  
and those beads became  
just that:  
beads  
  
i am sorry that  
i lost you  
i am sorry that  
i did not try harder  
  
i wish i could say  
i am sorry for my  
disillusionment  
but i'm not  
  
that is the one thing  
i am not sorry for  
  
because i know  
wrapping those beads  
around my fingers won't  
bring you back  
and it won't ease  
the weight on my  
chest  
  
i let you go  
when i should have  
held on


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

there is something  
beautiful  
in making yourself  
vulnerable  
in holding the things  
that scare you the most  
in the palm of your hand  
for the whole world to see  
you are brave  
not in spite of your tears  
but because of them  
you have made it this far,  
my darling,  
and you will keep going  
and i will be here  
holding the ragged edges of you  
together  
and when they heal  
to nothing more than a  
faded scar  
i will still be here


	16. Chapter 16

what is it like to fear yourself?  
not to look into the mirror  
and cower at your reflection:  
to realize  
that it is not your body  
but your mind  
that you should be cowering  
from  
  
you have been through war  
and decades of torture  
things that should have  
broken you  
\--and did--  
but this...  
  
you are not afraid  
of what this body can  
do;  
you know what it can  
do  
how could you forget  
when it was  
created?  
  
you are afraid of the  
dark thoughts and  
the darker nights  
you are afraid of sleep  
for what it brings  
  
you are afraid of this  
apathetic emptiness  
like the implosion in  
the wake of a dying star  
consuming you until  
you are  
gone  
  
it is inside you  
growing  
and you can feel it  
keeping you pinned  
to your sheets as morning  
ticks into afternoon  
ticks into evening  
  
and you are afraid;  
not of what they put  
in your head  
but what you can't stop  
from crossing it


	17. Chapter 17

i welcomed Death

as one would

an old friend

 

we were once familiar,

Him and i

 

i remember dying

and i remember fear,

and i remember—

 

then

He was there

and caught me

 

He told me—

 

He told me that it

wasn’t my time

 

instead, He handed

me His scythe

and said use it

 

He gave me His mask

and covered my face

and called me Death

 

i hesitated, but not

for long.

for i was alone

 

and what more did i

have to fear?

 

i welcomed Death

and i became Him

because you were not

 

here


	18. Chapter 18

i’ve laid myself bare, naked, under the silver  
smile of the moon  
arms spread like jesus on the cross 

is this what it’s like to be born, i wonder  
this pain  
this absolute, terrible, thunderclap of pain 

or 

is this what it’s like to die,  
unabashedly unashamed of my own humanness  
face tipped towards the sky 

you slide into the world—  
we are ghosts, cursed to wander  
—you slide out

like you never existed  
and maybe it’s better that way

i have endured so many fires that i am ash  
not even a phoenix could rise from  
my bones are crooked and twist from the earth  
like spindles 

my blood spills viscous, shining, from the  
black hole of my throat, open to the judging eye  
of god 

let me be born and let me die  
let me sink  
into the earth


	19. Chapter 19

who was i?  
tell me, my love.  
was i good to you?  
was i kind?  
did i love you the way  
you deserve to be loved?  
tell me, my one and  
only.  
did i kiss you under  
the stars?  
did i tell you how you  
make my soul ache,  
and how it has ached  
all these years?  
oh, my light. my universe.  
tell me.  
tell me your soul yearns  
for mine the same way.  
without you i am  
nothing.  
tell me that you love me.  
tell me that i deserve  
your love.  
who am i?  
my beating heart, my  
end of all things.  
tell me tell me tell me–


	20. Chapter 20

why do i let myself

lie awake at night

letting my demons grab

onto me with talons

sharp from scratching

at my bones?

 

madness takes over

during the witching hour

twisting my fears with

godlike precision

 

you are dead.

i have killed you.

 

you are alive.

i have betrayed you.

 

i am dead.

but nothing has changed.

 

i can only escape those demons

for so long

 

eventually they will catch

up to me

and swallow me whole

 

to lose you would be

to lose myself

and i can feel their hot breath

on the back of my neck

 

run.

please run.


	21. Chapter 21

_How long have I loved you?_

_With the immeasurable immensity of time._

_They tried to take you from me but like tree roots you are steadfast._

 

_I love you. I love you._


	22. Chapter 22

isn’t it supposed to get easier?  
that’s what they say, but i  
don’t know if i believe them  
  
late nights, sleepless nights  
anxiety driven with a woodpecker  
pounding in my skull  
  
on again, off again  
curled under the covers and hoping  
to god that i never have to get out  
  
they said that time heals things  
but i think they’re wrong.  
time makes things worse  
  
time is no one’s friend  
it doesn’t care what you have  
or have not done  
  
it continues to march forward ceaselessly:  
the lamb becomes the sheep  
the cub becomes the lion  
  
we grow, we die  
we love, we regret  
and i regret what i have not loved–   
  
you.  
i have not loved you the way that  
i was supposed to   
  
but, somehow, you love me still  
you curl around me on top of the covers  
and don’t say a word   
  
despite then, despite now, despite everything–  
you have never regretted a single thing you have sacrificed  
not even me   
  
and i…  
  
eyes half-lidded from restless sleep  
i want to kiss you with my clumsy mouth,  
so i do.


	23. Chapter 23

you remember the first taste of him from a clumsy, unsure kiss. how it deepened quickly, and how it had felt to have his fingers thread through your hair. christ, it was like sin. it was all you wanted to taste for the next week–hell, the next year, maybe, if you could. 

how it was sweet, like the reddened curve of his lips, and sharp, like the devil that came out in his bony fists. never, even through seventy years of hell, could you forget wide baby blues, how dirty blond hair flopped, mussed, over his forehead. the way that the grin he gave was bright enough to light half of Brooklyn alone, could make even the darkest alleys seem inviting. maybe you fell in love with him then: though you think it was probably sometime before. maybe before you even knew that love was more than ma’s kisses on your cheeks and letting your sisters have the first helpings when food was low. 

no one had ever prepared you for the way it felt, how your body was a wood shanty and he was a hurricane, mighty winds blowing to make you tremble to your knees. you’d never been gladder to be at someone’s mercy than you were at his. and were you ever at his mercy: he could crook his little finger and you would follow, drawn on an invisible leash, a red string tied to both your pinkies. 

the way it felt when he pillowed his head on your chest at night, broad hand with its beautiful fingers right beside his nose, like home, like that spot on your chest was made just for him, his golden blond hair yours to run your fingers through. shoulder bony under your palm until you picked that hand up, you always did, to play with those slim fingers until his breathing evened out as much as it could with its asthmatic wheeze and you were left, in the pale darkness, to marvel at this person. how he was yours and you were his.

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

when i asked you  
what you wanted most  
you told me that you wanted  
to see the stars  
and when i asked why  
you said  
‘untainted beauty is  
so seldom  
in this world’   
  
but it’s not  
because it was right  
in front of me:  
telling me about  
the stars like it wasn’t  
one of them himself,  
guiding me home  
even through the winding  
steel of the city around  
us that blocked  
the sky   
  
so i told you  
as much  
and you laughed, but  
you looked me in the eye  
and you asked me to promise  
you that we would   
  
well, you ain’t here  
but there are so many  
stars, you wouldn’t believe  
and i wish you were here  
so that i could tell you,  
before it’s too late   
  
i think you were  
carved from my very rib,  
my own eve  
my bone, my flesh  
my blood.  
if i don’t see you again  
i hope i become one of  
these stars  
so that you can search  
for me at night  
so i can guide you home, too.


	25. Chapter 25

i had a dream  
last night  
that we were  
in love  
–and.  
christ.  
i ain’t never felt  
nothing like it  
i ain’t never felt  
nothing like  
you.  
it was like i  
was electrified.  
like i was finally  
alive.  
but when i woke  
up, i knew what  
a fool i’d been.  
i could never  
have you.  
i didn’t deserve you.  
because even though  
i can’t remember a  
time when i didn’t  
love you, baby doll,  
it just ain’t meant  
to be.  
so i rolled over,  
and i tried to  
go back to sleep.  
just to be there,  
again, in  
your arms.


	26. Chapter 26

do not mourn me  
when i am gone  
for i will become  
the earth  
and the earth  
will become me  
do not leave flowers  
at my grave  
and do not weep  
for i was buried once  
an empty casket in  
an empty grave  
i have watched  
time erode these  
things  
and i have watched  
your tears dry  
do not mourn me  
my love  
that grave  
has since been filled  
you are sleeping  
and i am here  
counting your  
breaths  
your heartbeats  
your unconscious  
rhythms of life   
  
i am  
here


	27. Chapter 27

i didn’t bother getting  
dressed today  
and instead let the  
world turn without  
me  
body like cinderblocks  
pinning me to this bed  
deciding that things  
weren’t changing  
and i was staying the  
same  
and then,  
your hand  
wiping away tears i  
didn’t even know i  
had shed  
wordless, you  
wrapped yourself  
around these old bones  
and called it home


	28. Chapter 28

in the dim  
morning hours  
your lips find  
my neck  
your hand seeks  
out my own  
under the  
sheets  
the firm press  
of your thighs  
as you cover me  
and your hips  
find mine–  
our hipbones  
touch and our  
lips meet and  
i am alight  
awash in you  
your scent  
your taste  
the beat of  
your heart as  
my palm seeks  
it out  
unhurried we  
move  
for we are like  
old trees,  
uncaring of the  
pace of the rest  
of the world  
we are alone  
ancient giants  
in our tiny forest  
you kiss me and  
my branches  
shudder  
i hold tight  
and dig my roots  
in deep  
and kiss you back


	29. Chapter 29

hold onto me  
if you start to  
fall apart.  
i will catch  
you, and i  
will not let  
your pieces  
scatter.  
you think i  
cannot see  
the bags under  
your eyes, or  
the way that  
your hands quake?  
you think that  
you have to  
be strong,  
like a mountain,  
but even  
mountains tremble  
and move.  
and even they  
grow weak.  
i see the way  
that you wake up  
at two AM,  
shaking,  
the way that i  
do:  
and i know,  
my love.  
i know.  
we are shaped  
from tragedy,  
born and bred.  
our tale is not  
one that is meant  
to be told.  
that is why i  
reach for your  
hand at night,  
and why i  
hold you  
close.  
you are all i have.  
you are all i want.  
so hold me,  
cling with your  
nightmare-clammy  
hands.  
i won’t fall again,  
and i won’t let you,  
either.


	30. Chapter 30

who said we can’t be content in the here and now?  
who said that this moment  
this second  
with my head on your chest and your fingers  
in my hair  
should not be enjoyed?  
i have spent too many years,  
too many decades,  
looking forward and counting the days.  
i have earned my peace and my rest.  
i have earned my contentment in the beat of your heart  
against my ear.  
i have earned these quiet hours in our bedroom  
where we say little and worry even less.  
we have found it, you and i.  
we have been through hell and back, survived the fire  
licking at our heels and singeing our hair.  
we have survived.  
and we deserve this.  
this second, of this hour, of this day, this month, this year.  
no looking back,  
no looking forward.  
just your heartbeat, your fingers. your scent in my nostrils.  
this quiet bedroom in our quiet house.  
and i press my lips to your chest.  
i mouth the words there, because this stillness is rare,  
like the sight of a fawn.  
i love you.  
when your fingers trace the shape of my lips,  
i know you have heard.


	31. Chapter 31

cold.  
  
even with the steam that floats above the shower curtain  
i am cold.  
  
i sink to the floor and rest my head on my knees.  
god, i think, please deliver me.  
  
i cannot breathe.  
i am cold.  
  
the water plasters my hair down in a dark curtain  
and makes muffled sounds as it hits  
the back of my head.  
  
my left arm wraps around my knees, wearied weak  
and useless. my skin is red  
but i am cold.  
  
i imagine every drop washing away a new part of me.  
parts that i don’t want to remember.  
my skin dripping away, circling down the drain.  
  
my fingers grip the back of my head, digging into  
my hair. i open my eyes and stare down at the curved  
abdomen of a body that i never wanted.  
  
deliver me, i think. purge me of these wrongdoings.  
i am cold.  
  
and you. you sneak in so quietly that i don’t notice you  
until you’re pressed against my naked back, clothes and all.  
  
you unwind my fingers from my hair and take my hand  
in yours.  
  
i open my eyes again and i stare at them. i cannot believe  
how tenderly you touch me. how careful you are.  
i do not deserve that.  
  
you tuck my hair behind my ear and kiss the damp curve  
of it. you don’t say a word; you just hold me under the  
pounding spray and wait.


	32. Chapter 32

when we are side-by-side  
sharing the same air,  
breathing the same breath,  
i lose the urge to run away  
–at least for now–  
for running away means i  
won’t have your hand  
in my hair  
or your breath  
on my lips.  
when they ask me  
what i am living for  
i say those exact things  
and think of  
our own little planet  
in our bed,  
how your gravitational orbit  
pulls me in every time  
helpless.  
and how we don’t need anyone  
else  
just you  
and me  
and our shared breath


	33. Chapter 33

i hated sharing you with the world,  
but baby doll, i should have known:  
you were destined to shine and  
i was just the night sky


	34. Chapter 34

tell me the story of the  
boy who became a soldier  
and the soldier who became machine  
does it have a happy ending?  
or should i skip the ending altogether?  
  
or what about the story of the  
boy who fell–  
not off of a train, see, but in love  
and how it was the scariest fall  
of his life.  
  
tell me about the novel, heartbreaking  
and spanning decades.  
and that part in the middle, where our tragic  
protagonist is saved by the love of his life?  
that’s my favorite.  
  
bucky, you say  
and i look at you:  
you’re smiling.  
i steal a kiss, quick like a kid sneaking into  
the cookie jar.  
  
it makes you grin wider. oh, my. i love you.  
  
you say, bucky. those aren’t stories anymore.  
they’re your memories.  
  
i know.  
i savor this one, letting it melt on my tongue.  
i remember, i say.  
  
your body is warm and i am cold.  
i look up at you. tell me anyway, i say.  
start from the book of genesis.  
you laugh, but you’re already launching into  
the tale of creation.  
  
i don’t notice when your hand  
slides between my metal fingers, but carefully i  
squeeze and let myself relive the giddy fear  
of falling in love all over again.


	35. Chapter 35

you left your  
sketchbook out  
today and i’m  
sorry, but i  
couldn’t help  
myself.  
  
you drew me on  
my knees,  
whether in  
supplication or  
pain, the pages  
don’t say.  
but i remember  
that day, and i  
know which one  
it was.  
  
when i look  
at the black-and-white  
image of myself  
doused in gray  
sunlight  
i don’t see that;  
i see the  
careful lines,  
and i see how  
you see  
me:  
  
not as something  
broken  
but as something  
beautiful  
and meant to  
be drawn.  
  
as a human.  
as myself.  
  
underneath the  
shadowed corner  
is a name.  
my name.  
and i weep.  
  
not out of sorrow  
or pity  
or the past.  
i weep because i  
am reclaiming it.  
  
my name is bucky.


	36. Chapter 36

home is your eyes  
and the way you smell  
and your lips  
god, your lips  
i would wait a hundred years  
just to kiss them again  
i would burn down a thousand buildings,  
i would end the world,  
just for you  
and the way you kiss me in return


	37. Chapter 37

how is it that i  
can ache for something i’ve  
never had?  
like a food my tongue  
has never tasted  
i want to try you  
so bad  
i want to get drunk  
off of you and fall  
into your embrace.  
and you  
–well. you have always  
been my worst-kept secret,  
my little lion  
with the body too small  
for his bravery.  
but you can never know  
what sins my thoughts hide  
because i don’t deserve  
you now, and i  
won’t deserve you  
when i wake up again.  
so i’m telling you this now  
while i am still Me:  
i love you.  
my sweetheart,  
my darling,  
i am yours.

 


	38. Chapter 38

ninety-nine.  
that was the first thing  
i said to you  
when you woke up  
this morning–  
blinking slowly  
your smile unfurled  
sleepily,  
like a morning glory  
reaching for the sun   
  
and you turned  
to me and said  
guess all the docs  
were wrong, huh?  
so i put my head  
on your chest  
to feel the steady beat  
of your heart:   
  
(as a reminder)   
  
ninety-nine.  
you hold me with  
hands not gnarled  
with age  
and you kiss me  
with the voracity of  
the twenty-something  
youth our bodies  
have been temporarily  
frozen into   
  
when you press into  
me i can feel it  
in my bones  
and when you whisper  
my name  
i can feel it in my  
soul   
  
today you are ninety-nine  
and i am a hundred  
but when you  
laugh over coffee  
and smile at me  
when drying the  
breakfast dishes it  
doesn’t matter how old  
we are or what  
century we’re in   
  
i hook my pinky  
into yours  
and bump our  
hips together  
i whisper into  
your neck  
‘happy birthday’  
and rest my head on  
your shoulder,  
and i am home


	39. Chapter 39

steve teaches you how to paint  
as part of your therapy  
and he doesn’t bat an eye  
when all you paint are angry  
slashes of color  
red dripping down from  
the gaping black maw of  
silently screaming mouths

he doesn’t say a word  
when you throw the brush down,  
metal fist pulling painfully at  
your hair

he just holds you close  
until your hand stops shaking  
long enough to  
pick the brush  
up again,  
his fingers now  
stained crimson  
too

and you breathe him in  
and close your eyes  
and you breathe  
and breathe


	40. Chapter 40

the way a tree grows: steady, slow, but sure. that is the way i grew to love you


	41. Chapter 41

you wake before they do,   
eyes blinking in the   
grayscale of the dawn   
  
sheet over your shoulder,   
hand curled against your chest,   
you let your sleepy eyes find   
what the light can’t:   
  
the bright eyes behind closed  
eyelids, and the  
lax mouth that shapes around  
‘i love you’   
  
you breathe shallowly   
because this moment is always   
like finding a fawn in the woods   
  
you resist the urge to reach out   
and instead you watch,   
waiting,   
breathing,   
loving.   
  
and when they blink their own   
sleepy eyes   
yours are the first thing they see   
and ‘i love you’ is the   
first shape their mouth forms


	42. Chapter 42

the way he says your name  
like a benediction  
makes you feel like something  
special  
something not you

  
a stained glass portrait of a messiah in pain  
uproots from the earth of your mind hidden images–  
dust motes in the sunlight of those  
stained glass effigies  
the low voice of the priest  
and a golden halo beside you

  
you are not the messiah  
or the martyr  
you are the judas, betrayer  
and you know what you have done

  
but when he says your name  
with such reverance  
and such love  
on a nondescript afternoon  
with no reason other than ‘because’  
you let yourself  
believe  
(the way you’d once believed in god)  
that you deserve it


	43. Chapter 43

you feel like   
a glacier   
falling off   
piece   
by   
piece   
  
you feel like   
a forest fire   
destroying   
everything,   
blazing,   
in your path   
  
you feel like   
a tornado   
a force of nature   
eating up the   
ground   
that you walk on   
  
you feel like   
nothing   
at all   
and maybe that is   
the scariest part:   
  
not to destroy   
or fall apart   
but   
to be   
nothing


	44. Chapter 44

i never told you  
but one of the first  
memories to come back  
to me was the first time  
we kissed  
  
before i knew my name  
or yours  
i knew the feel of your  
lips  
and the taste of your  
breath  
  
when you were still  
my mission  
i knew the way you  
loved me  
and the way you felt  
in my arms  
  
before you gave me  
my name back  
i knew  
  
you weren’t a ghost  
at the edges of cryosleep  
and…i remembered–  
i remembered what it was like  
to fight  
  
we cannot exist without  
the other  
  
where you go,  
i must follow


	45. Chapter 45

you belong among  
the stars  
for you shine bright  
and light my way  
  
but i–   
i belong among   
the molten   
core of the earth   
in hellfire and brimstone  
  
i do not deserve   
the stars   
or the light   
or the kindness   
of your smile  
  
and i am sorry   
i am so sorry   
for what i have   
become


	46. Chapter 46

i did not ask for this  
you must understand  
i asked for death in that ravine  
i asked for anything other than  
this  
  
i asked for you, steve,  
even when they said you were dead  
then, i prayed  
  
i asked for salvation when finally  
i gave up, too exhausted to fight  
when i forgot your name and mine  
and that cold creeping horror  
of losing yourself  
stole its way over my bones  
  
i did not ask for this red star on my arm  
this heaviness on my soul  
and fear of damnation  
  
please. listen to me  
  
i did not ask for this  
so why does it feel like i did?


	47. Chapter 47

my hands  
are chapped and  
bleeding  
from digging my own  
grave  
and one day i will  
rest my body  
in it:  
i will close  
my eyes  
and i will not cry  
because  
weapons do not cry  
and they do not love  
even though i have  
loved you–  
it has put me here, in  
the cold and the dirt  
but it will not let me die


	48. Chapter 48

‘why me?’   
you ask the mirror   
where someone–   
something–   
that is not you stares back.   
  
this something has   
the eyes of the hunted   
the fragility of a baby bird’s   
naked skin.   
'i didn’t ask for this.’   
  
who were you seventy years ago?   
is it possible to die while being alive?   
  
but you learned   
decades ago   
that not asking for it   
didn’t mean that you   
wouldn’t get it.   
  
not asking for it   
only made it hurt worse.   
  
your metal fist   
clangs into the sink   
in your frustration   
and you hear a noise   
like a wounded animal.   
  
and it takes you a moment   
to realize that the wounded   
animal is you   
and that haunted face in the mirror   
crumples like paper.   
  
the floor is cold. you bury your face   
in your knees. you grieve for who you were.


	49. Chapter 49

what i must sound to you:   
a fool who cannot   
find his way home   
a weary traveler returned   
to the dug-out site   
of where he thought he once lived.   
  
i am not meant for this world   
for this world is not meant for me.   
i have shed its old skin, snakelike,   
and its new isn’t quite right.   
too loose in some places,   
too tight in others.   
  
my head aches with old memories   
that i do not remember.   
  
even though you tell me that   
it doesn’t matter,   
it does.   
because how can i be here for you   
when i am a million miles,   
a hundred years,   
away?   
  
‘it doesn’t matter’ you say.   
and you squeeze my hand tighter.   
  
'it doesn’t matter because home   
is not physical.   
home is emotional.’   
and you kiss me.   
  
i swear   
to god   
i will always feel   
seventeen again   
when you look at me that way.   
  
i am still a rogue spacecraft   
spinning out of control   
but at least i will never forget   
the way that your fingers feel between mine.


	50. Chapter 50

your touch alights   
in my bones   
life   
like the hand of god   
creating it–   
you could tear   
me   
down   
with that same ease   
and that,   
my sweetheart,   
is why i love you   
because you never   
have   
and you never   
will


	51. Chapter 51

you have been  
alone  
for so long that  
you have forgotten  
what that word  
means  
and know it only  
as  
who you are


	52. Chapter 52

the dreams come  
at night  
prowling into your  
subconscious  
like a lethal panther  
stalking  
you  
no matter where  
you  
turn  
  
and He is there  
this small unnamable man  
with the face you  
can’t quite  
remember  
and the voice  
you can’t quite  
forget  
  


and he tells you  
to wake up, you  
gotta wake up  
but you don’t know  
how  
  
hurry, he says,  
the floor sliding  
out from under  
you,  
before you forget  
  
but you think you  
have already forgotten,  
a useless puppet whose  
head lolls on its wooden neck  
a malicious shadow  
pulling your strings,  
because you’re falling  
now  
  
and you just  
keep  
  
falling


	53. Chapter 53

i would walk the world  
to search for a place to  
rest my weary eyes  
heavy-lidded  
hollow  
i close them to  
remember the past  
but i cannot rest  
restless  
ceaseless  
i climb a mountain i  
can never reach the  
top of  
i dive to the depths  
of an ocean  
but never touch bottom  
we take up space because  
we carry our past experiences  
with us  
tethered  
unyielding  
unable to–let go


	54. Chapter 54

we were never allowed to

feel the way we

should

the way we were

meant to

we were never allowed to

want

or to

have

but we did it anyway

you would not ask a

tornado to stop

you would not expect a

monsoon to cease its deluge

even if we have to destroy

everything

to become

something

we will

because we deserve this


	55. Chapter 55

for decades they have told our tale  
over and over  
but they have never gotten it right.  
it was you whom i followed;  
it was you whom i held in my heart.  
  
they cannot know the things i do–  
the smoky hue of your eyes  
after i kiss you  
and that your lips forming my name  
looks exactly like when you would pray in mass.  
  
they have said so many things  
but they will never know that  
you were my first,  
my only,  
my love.  
  
some things are ours and ours alone.  
the world has forgotten who you were;  
who i was.  
they held onto the projections we cast  
and let our identities slide into oblivion.  
  
they tell our heroic tale, but we know the truth.  
  
we are just james and steve, the two boys  
from brooklyn who fell in love,  
who died and mourned,  
who lost everything–  
only to come right back home again.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is [here!](http://endofadream.tumblr.com) reviews are lovely and appreciated!


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